City of The Renaissance

She sleeps on the street

The handmade sign beside her reads, donna incinta (pregnant women)

A tattered cardboard box welcomes the generosity of a small coin.

Her white linen dress, dirty and stained

Provides the only relief between her and the stone below.

Her pregnant belly exposed

A curiosity to the tourists.

This is the city of the renaissance.

Not The David

With his brilliant marble so newly polished.

Not the Piazza del Duoma

With its magnificent copula reaching up to God.

Not the Galeria degli Uffize

With its precious frescos and ostentatious sculptures.

This women is Florence Italy.

This women is London England.

This women is New York City.

While we blindly choose to measure our humanity

In the monuments to a privileged few

We loose the living truth

In the forgotten image

Of an unborn child

Whose mother sleeps on the street.

                                    - flc